This blog tracks a ten year epic of kick-starting a whole writing career, with spies and thrillers and now, vampires. I cover the creative process, stuff that blows up, history, philosophy, and theology. If you like any or all of the above, you'll like this one. We talk about comic books, movies, music, and writing. Usually, all at the same time.

Galadren, “Middle Earth's
Most Wanted Elven Assassin,” had been standing at the entrance to
the skywalk for the better part of an hour, waiting on the Marriott
side of the walkway. He was to one side of the water fountains, which
created a space for him to stand without blocking traffic. He had
spent most of that time fielding compliments and questions about his
look and his bow.

And then the communications
unit in his ear chirped to life. “Galadren, we have a possible
suspect, in the Hyatt, perhaps coming your way. About six feet tall,
dressed in a Godzilla costume.”

Galadren was already moving.
He hopped onto the rail that ran along the wall leading to the
skywalk, and then sprinted along the rail. “What is Godzilla?”

Galadren
kept running, hopping onto the back of a wheelchair that looked like
it was designed for Mad
Max,
kicking off of a wall in order to bound around a corner, and grabbed
a light fixture to swing onto the next rail.

It was a good thing he took
that route. Everyone else in the skywalk had stopped to take
pictures.

He stopped at the final corner
as the skywalk turned into the Hyatt lobby. The creature that had
been described to him was already trying to get through the skywalk,
but had been stopped by the crowd.

Galadren looked at the
creature called Godzilla, and quickly drew an arrow. “Halt, beast,
or I shall dispatch you forthwith.”

The creature looked around, as
though confused about who the elf might have been referring to. It
froze a moment, and turned, pushing its way back through the crowd,
into the lobby.

Galadren
had cleared the sightlines, as dunedain
Ryan
had taught him, and loosed an arrow, pinning Godzilla's head to the
wall.

Godzilla kept moving, the
arrow pulling a massive tear in the back of its head.

Galadren frowned, briefly
puzzled, then bounded after the creature, running along the rail, and
finally leaping over the crowd, drop-kicking Godzilla in the head.

Godzilla's head came off, and
the beast kept running.

Galadren glowered, vaulted
over a chain connecting a couple, and kicked the knees out from under
Godzilla as it neared the stairs.

Godzilla bounced a few times
down the stairs, then rolled across the lobby a little. It pushed to
its feet, and dashed around the stairs and the escalators.

Galadren growled, leaped onto
the rails for the stairs, slid down it, and ran around the corner.

Godzilla had molted. The back
of the rubbed suit had given way and opened, leaving a hollow center.

Galadren looked around the
floor. It was mostly populated by men and women in full-body
covering, in the shiny material called spandex.

Galadren cursed in elvish.

Someone in a turtle costume
with a mask around its eyes looked at him and said, “Dude, not
cool.”A guy in a red, white and blue outfit, carrying a shield, said, "Language."

Galadren muttered to himself
all the way up the stairs.

When he got to the top of the
stairs, a woman said, “Hey, want to come to our room?”

Galadren looked at the woman.
She wore a chain mail bikini, and a collar – the collar was
connected to a chain, which was held by a man dressed in leather. The
elven assassin cocked his head at them and said, “Why would I?”

The woman gave him a smile
that seemed out of place. “We can think of something.”

That was odd,
he thought. He ran across the lobby, past the elevators, and ran into
Sean Ryan and another man coming out of International Tower.

“Where'd
he go?” Sean asked.

“He
molted.”

Sean blinked. He took a quick
moment, and said, “Dang it.” He tapped his earpiece. “Overwatch,
did you have eyes on who came out of the Godzilla costume?”

Galadren
heard the voice of their tiny sorceress in their ear. “He
must have slipped it off camera. And I
have like six groups of costumed people walking through. Half a dozen
green lanterns, another half-dozen ninja turtles, and nine Sailor
Scouts dressed like Japanese school girls, and I'm not sure that
they're all women. You
come
down here and sort through this.”

Sean sighed. “I'm surrounded
by nerds, and they can't even get their fandoms straight. Wonderful.
And for the record, I preferred Donatello.”

The other man looked at the
closed tactical baton in Sean's hand and said, “I never would have
guess.”

“Shut
it, Kovach.”

Galadren blinked. “Ah,
friend Kovach! I now recall you. Have you been well since our last
encounter?”

The author shrugged. “No
one's shot at me in months, that's always an improvement. Though now
people are trying to kill me again, so … honestly? It's starting to
feel like I'm finally back to normal.”

“I
understand this.”

Sean held up a hand. “Stop.
Galadren, lead the way to the costume.” Sean followed, and kept
speaking as they went down the stairs. “Overwatch? Call the cops,
tell them to send a forensic team, we got someone running around with
sharp objects. I want the costume dusted for prints, and maybe DNA.
Yes, it takes two days, but the con is four. If this nutjob kills
somebody, we can have a head start on suspects.

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